


Postmortem

by bluejoseph



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Hotels, I mean it's like a few hours after and it's 2am but, M/M, Morning After, No Smut, Rich Josh, actor Josh, after sex - Freeform, into something i understand so, poor tyler, take this with a pinch of salt if u would, this is mostly me trying to translate feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejoseph/pseuds/bluejoseph
Summary: And what is sex, Tyler muses, if not a sort of death?





	Postmortem

**Author's Note:**

> the part about big carnivores getting wary after a kill is from the jurassic park novel (page 149 to be precise). I reread it recently and got inspired oops
> 
> also this could?? be a series or something?? idk I have too many projects going on I need to focus on finishing bio

The light from the alarm clock glints at him, malicious red. Tyler recalls reading, once, that the color was chosen for such clocks because your brain would see it as a sunset, and it would be tricked into falling asleep. It doesn’t seem to be working for him now.

He stares at it for a moment longer, then carefully rises from the blankets. His lover is fast asleep, apparently undisturbed by his movement, and Tyler is able to extricate himself from the bed without waking him.

He uses the bathroom, washes his hands, but finds himself unwilling to climb back into bed. Instead, he sets to a gentle sort of pacing, a slight wariness settling into his bones as his mind begins to cycle.

There’s little room for him to pace, in this hotel room. Not that it’s much bigger than his apartment. Worried that he might wake his lover, and desiring for more space, he slips his room key into his pocket and steps out onto the third-floor balcony. From here, he could surely see much of the city, but his thoughts are running together and he barely registers the view.

It’s not that Tyler doesn’t experience the post-coital euphoria that so many people go on about. Indeed, it’s a relief to him, a time where his anxieties quiet in favor of a soft, full peace. 

If he were made to explain it more thoroughly, he’d liken it to what a lion must feel after making a kill. Belly full, dozing in the shade, carrying the knowledge that they are sustained for a while longer. It’s a terrible comparison, he thinks, but it makes some sense to him.

In any case, it’s not that he doesn’t experience that peace, so much as it fades far too quickly for his liking. In its absence, a worry begins to grow; nibbling, at first, before coming gnawing and urgent. 

Tyler remembers reading something else, once--he reads too many useless articles, mind you--about wariness. Big carnivores like lions and tigers often become cautious after a kill, behaving as if suddenly exposed. Nineteenth-century zoologists imagined the animals felt guilty for what they had done. But contemporary scientists documented the effort behind a kill--hours of patient stalking before the final lunge--as well as the frequency of failure. The idea of “nature, red in tooth and claw” is wrong; most often the prey gets away. When a carnivore finally brings down an animal, it is watchful for another predator, who might attack it and steal its prize.

He is feeling this wariness now, he realizes. The relationship between him and his lover is complicated. They come from very different backgrounds; Josh, rich, Tyler, poor. Josh is an actor working with a well-known movie production company; Tyler sells slushies at 7-11. It’s stupid and cliche and next to impossible. He still doesn’t really know how it happened.

They scarcely have the time to be together, and when they do, it has to be out of the public eye; neither wants to hurt Josh’s image, and Josh has expressed many times for his desire to keep Tyler safe from paparazzi. Their time together is as rare as a kill.

And what is sex, Tyler muses, if not a sort of death? Two figures chasing something, gradually escalating before resulting in something powerful, something final. 

He’s not thinking rationally, he decides.

At this moment, he hears a door click open, turns to see his lover. Josh’s hair is mussed, and his torso is bare. “Tyler?” The anxiety in his chest unravels at the man’s raspy voice. “Is something wrong?”

He steps away from the balcony, and lets Josh lead him back into their hotel room, their oasis, for the time being. “Just needed some air.”


End file.
